


all drawn out

by Anonymous



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Desperation, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Under-negotiated Kink, Watersports, Wetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-06-15 00:03:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15400533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Willy's an athlete, so he likes to test how far his body can go. Sometimes that’s about how fast he can skate or how hard he can shoot, and sometimes it’s about other stuff, like how long he can—It’s not a thing. Not really, anyway.





	all drawn out

**Author's Note:**

> if you or someone you know is mentioned in this fic PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS!!!!! this is not a reflection of any real people. this is entirely made up. fiction. fake. no part of this is real or claims to be real.

It’s not a thing.

At first, it’s not a thing.

It’s never been a thing. Not on purpose, not anywhere beyond the deepest, weirdest, most messed-up parts of Willy’s brain that try to push every button. It’s like, a limit. He’s an athlete. He likes to test how far his body can go, and sometimes that’s about how fast he can skate or how hard he can shoot, and sometimes it’s about other stuff.

Like. 

How long he can—

 

It’s not a thing. Not really, anyway.

 

Really, it’s a game, where, like, he just keeps waiting to see if he can. He doesn’t do anything dangerous—which he’s learned it can be, because some doctor at some point had been talking about kidney health, which had been pretty eye-opening—he just. Waits. Drives home from practice shifting in his seat. Gets comfortable using plane bathrooms, because he doesn’t always wanna go out of his way to avoid it if he thinks he can make it the whole flight.

Sometimes flights are short, and it’s easy. Sometimes they’re long, and it’s less easy.

He usually makes it, and when he doesn’t, he only gets up to use the cramped, gross toilet once his face is hot and he can’t stop moving and he’s pretty sure the guys around him are starting to wonder. 

Sometimes there’s someone in the bathroom already, and Willy has to stand there trying not to bounce on his feet while subtly squeezing his legs together and hoping there’s no turbulence. 

Sometimes he likes it better when that happens.

 

It’s not a thing, because he’s never—

He’s never even come  _ close _ to—

And he hasn’t really thought about— not really, anyway—

He’s a grown man, and there are bathrooms everywhere. He can handle himself, especially because it’s not a thing.

 

Except then, Willy is sitting in Kyle’s office, and he’s thinking about the not-thing instead of whatever Kyle’s saying, because he’s had a lot to drink today, and it’s distracting, a little. He’s at the point right now where he’d try to make an escape, because he’s got a limit for how much he lets onto his face, like a color chart against which he can match his blush before he just gives in.

But Kyle is his GM, and he’s talking a lot, and Willy doesn’t really want to interrupt him, which is pushing him four shades redder than he’d like to be.

“Will?” Kyle says, drawing Willy’s wandered focus back to him. “Everything good?”

And a part of Willy desperately wants to say,  _ yeah, I’m fine, keep going,  _ because he knows he can hold on, but he’d have to squirm and squeeze and then Kyle would know he was holding on, which would mean that Kyle—like, his distressingly nerd-hot GM Kyle—would  _ know. _

Not that there’s anything to know, because it’s not a thing, but—

“Can I just—” Willy jerks a thumb over his shoulder, unable to say  _ go to the bathroom,  _ for some reason. It’s almost too normal, because normal people just ask for things their bodies need, and things like this happen, but the part of Willy that wants to keep holding doesn’t want him to let him feel like this is normal. He’s clinging to that little bit of shame, which is fucked up and kind of heady and definitely making his palms sweat, and he shouldn’t like the way that feels so much—the shame, not the sweat—but it’s sort of… 

He doesn’t know. Intoxicating, maybe.

Kyle opens his mouth, shuts it, then blushes and gives Willy a small nod, and in the middle of all that, Willy sees the moment where it registers on Kyle’s face, what’s going on.

“Of course,” Kyle says. “Do what you need to.”

His eyes are focused on his hands, and he must be burning up from the inside the same way Willy is, and suddenly Willy is much more desperate to go to the bathroom, not even because he has to go that badly, but because he needs to be out of this office. 

His face is on fire the entire time he’s in there, and his reflection is red with a rush of something that Willy can’t place, a flush that sits high on his cheeks as he walks back into Kyle’s office, head a little heavy, and he kind of wants to hold up his hands and hide, or break the strange almost-tension with a joke, but he also really, really wants to bask in this. 

He feels… embarrassed, and he feels relieved, but mostly, he feels Kyle’s eyes on him, whenever Kyle thinks he’s not looking.

 

Willy jerks off as soon as he gets home.

Then, he drinks a few glasses of water, makes himself sit through a whole movie, and jerks off again afterwards, thinking about what Kyle would think about if he saw Willy like this, squirming and desperate, or if he saw Willy even farther along, doubled over with a hand on his crotch, his entire body straining with the effort. 

He goes to his bathroom and considers just hopping in the shower, even goes as far as turning on the water and letting it run, but he has to piss, and he’s standing in front of a toilet. He’s not sure why it sounds so much more appealing to stand in the shower and keep waiting until he can’t wait anymore and has to let go, because waiting is waiting, and pissing is pissing. It shouldn’t feel any different, except for how it does.

In the end, Willy just uses the toilet like normal, tries not to think about how much he’d been holding in, then takes a shower to wash away some vague feeling of filth he can’t quite pinpoint the source of.

 

***

 

Look.

Willy is cute. He’s charming. He’s weird and sarcastic and flirty and cheerful and quirky. 

He’s not into… heavy-duty stuff. He’s not kinky.

Except he might have, like, one kink, because this not-thing is— 

It’s almost definitely a thing.

He’s always had a limit on how far he’ll go, and how much he’ll push before tapping out, except that limit has always been guys starting to wonder why Willy’s moving so much. But Kyle fucking Dubas, of all people— he’s sort of changed the game on Willy. He’s past wonder and firmly entrenched in suspicion, and that’s a difference. Kind of a big difference, if Willy’s being honest. 

When Kyle looks at Willy when he’s— when it’s happening, his gaze feels like a different kind of measure. He’s wondering how full Willy is, how much Willy’s had to drink, how long it’s been since he last went to the bathroom, and that’s a really intense way to be looked at, it turns out.

Not that Willy knows for a fact that Kyle’s thinking those things, but it  _ feels  _ like he is, and that’s enough to fuel an embarrassing amount of Willy’s fantasies. Or, like,  _ all  _ of Willy’s fantasies.

It’s fucked up, like a bruise Willy can’t stop poking, or something even grosser, like a blister he needs to pop, a piece of cuticle he can’t help but pick at. Poking at bruises is normal, but the other things—the ones that hurt more, the ones that bleed—are just as hard to not do.

He’s pretty sure it’s not just one-sided. Willy keeps having meetings with him, and he keeps pushing, because he thinks Kyle is expecting him to. He waits for Kyle to notice and excuse him every time, and he’s pretty sure that if Kyle didn’t know what he was doing, and didn’t want him to keep doing it, he’d— he’d tell Willy to stop interrupting things and go before, or to go to the trainers if he’s having bladder problems, or something, but he doesn’t.

That’s gotta mean something. It has to.

Willy could excuse himself, but Kyle seems to relish it, in his quiet, professional sort of way. It’s a secret relishing. It’s a secret thing. It might not be a thing at all, but if it is, Willy wants to wait for Kyle to tell him he should go.

He should probably sort this out. Or maybe never think about it again. 

One of the two.

 

***

 

The first time Willy sucks Kyle’s dick, he really, really has to go.

He’s not sure when he became so fucked up that it’s not even a surprise, but it feels inevitable, being on his knees for him, subtly pressing a hand to his crotch as he slowly works his mouth down Kyle’s shaft. 

“You can go faster,” Kyle says.

Willy hums, then pulls his mouth off Kyle as slow as he can, listening to the sounds of Kyle gasping in surprise before licking the head and going back to the comfortable pace he’d set before.

“Jesus,” Kyle says. “Don’t you have to—”

Willy looks up, some overwhelming combination of fear and excitement filling him up all of a sudden, and Kyle must see something he likes in Willy’s face, because he thrusts deep into Willy’s throat and comes right then and there. 

It should be heady, being able to make someone come just by looking at them, and it is, but Willy can’t help but be a little disappointed that it hadn’t lasted longer. He knows it’s objectively a good blowjob, when it ends with a 32-year-old guy coming fast, like he’s a teenager again, but still. Willy’s kind of weird when it comes to what he wants out of sex, apparently. 

He sits back on his heels, squeezes his thighs together, and waits, clasping his hands behind his back because he wants to see if it’s something he likes. He’s pretty sure it is.

“Look at you,” Kyle says, running a hand through Willy’s hair.

The whole moment feels overloaded. Willy’s thinking about Kyle tangling his fingers up in his hair and pulling, and he’s thinking about staying still for Kyle, and he’s thinking about holding on, and that’s all he has room to think about, because he really, really needs to go.

“So pretty,” Kyle says, running a thumb over Willy’s bottom lip, which is slick with spit and come. “You’re so good.”

It’s probably about the blowjob, but it feels like praise, like being told he’s  _ good,  _ and Willy’s brain is all crossed wires right now, following paths it shouldn’t and telling him that Kyle knows he’s been holding it in, that Kyle wanted him to, that Kyle thinks Willy’s good because of this weird game that’s turned serious since they started playing together. 

Willy can’t even say anything, just bites his lip and looks up at Kyle expectantly.

After a few seconds of admiration, Kyle says, “There’s a bathroom down the hall, if you need to clean up.”

Willy doesn’t need to clean up, but he nods, then stands up quickly and walks as fast as he can to the bathroom.

The relief feels better than anything Willy’s ever felt, so intense that he gasps a little, but his face is hot with humiliation, which doesn’t even make sense. Kyle’s the one who came to fast, and it’s not like Willy even got close to actually letting go in front of him, even if it took a lot of effort. It’s not like they even talked about it, or like Willy’s any more caught now than he has been the whole time, but—

He’s naked, and a little foggy, and now that his bladder is finally empty, he’s feeling scared, wondering if mixing this up with sex is pushing it too far.

He’s not sure whether he wants to curl up in Kyle’s bed or run far away from this apartment and never look back, but in the end, he goes out and gets dressed, and Kyle offers to order pizza, a slight pleading quality in his voice that Willy thinks means he wants him to stay. If Kyle wants Willy to stay, then Willy should stay, because Kyle tends to have smart ideas.

The pizza is fine. Willy gives Kyle shit for his toppings preferences. He doesn’t have strong opinions on pineapple, apparently, but Willy has a fun time trying to draw an argument about it out of him, anyway. 

They talk a little about the sex they just had. They both say they kind of want to do it again.

They don’t talk about the other thing.

 

***

 

The next few times Willy has sex with Kyle, he goes to the bathroom first. Once is just because he’s not really in the mood for it, but the second time he sort of is, and has a little bit of a moral crisis before he decides to just go, because he’s not sure if he can handle learning more about this side of himself in that particular moment.

It’s still good, when he’s not desperate. Kyle’s pretty great in bed, likes pulling Willy’s hair and holding him in place, and Willy hasn’t done a huge amount of shit like that, but he’s pretty on board. Really on board. Incredibly, marvelously, embarrassingly on board, really.

It’s kind of sexy that Kyle knows what he likes. Sexy in a way that makes Willy jealous, because he really has no fucking clue what he’s into, but he’s pretty sure that, had he sat down and thought about it, he’d have come up with a list similar to the stuff Kyle likes doing to him. Which is nice, because, like, compatibility.

The thing is, what Kyle likes, and knows he likes, ends with a little tugging, shoving, nothing too hard and nothing that leaves a bruise, and the things Willy is trying to figure out— they’re not normal, kinda-rough sex things. They’re bizarre and niche and filthy, and that’s sort of the best part of it.

There’s also the part of Willy that finds it incredibly hot when people don’t know or have to guess at what he’s doing, and maybe that’s why, the next time Willy ends up at Kyle’s place and really, really has to use the bathroom, it’s by accident. Or at least mostly by accident, and maybe it’s accidentally-on-purpose, but Willy can’t actually tell which it is, because he’s red with humiliation and a burning desire to do it like this and see what happens afterwards as he waits for Kyle to answer the door.

Kyle can see it right away. 

His face almost lights up before his eyes go wide and dark, and Willy is so, so fucked up, but then again, Kyle probably is too. They’re in this together, even if Willy’s the one with something to be embarrassed about. Or, like, hopefully will have something to be embarrassed about.

Willy’s has so much water today. He already had to pee when he left his place, and there’s been a bumpy drive since then. He can’t stop thinking about the Venti iced coffee he’d had earlier; he’d even eaten the ice. He’s not sure if he’s gone to the bathroom since then, but he thinks he hasn’t. 

That’s twenty ounces of melted ice and coffee sitting inside him, if he hasn’t, plus the water.

That’s a lot of liquid.

Kyle must see that in Willy’s face, or the bounce of his feet, or the subtle squeeze of his legs, because he starts making the decisions that Willy desperately doesn’t want to make.

They go into the bathroom, because Kyle said something about shower sex, except they don’t bring condoms or lube. Instead, Kyle just turns the water on and Willy lets Kyle pin him against the wall as he jerks him off, because he needs something to do with his hands, and he likes making Kyle come.

It’s not the world’s most elegant handjob, but it doesn’t end too soon, and Willy ends up with Kyle’s come on his stomach, so it does what it’s supposed to.

Willy really, really has to go, and this is where Kyle would usually offer, but he’s not, and it’s making Willy tremble a bit. Willy doesn’t have the muscles available for trembling right now. 

“I’m gonna hop out for a sec,” Willy says.

“What for?” Kyle’s still got his hands on Willy’s shoulders, pressing him into the wall. If Willy pushed him off, Kyle would let him go, but he really doesn’t want to.

“Gotta take a piss.” Willy tries to keep his voice casual, but his face is burning; it feels like a confession, the first words of something unspoken.

Kyle’s expression is a little fierce, but in a calm, determined way. It’s piercing Willy, feels like Kyle seeing right into his core. “We’re in the shower.”

Willy doesn’t say words, he  _ can’t _ , so he lets his eyes go wide, probably full of all the hope and terror he’s got inside. 

“You can let go.” Kyle sounds like he’s in a different world.

“Right here?” Willy asks.

“Right here,” Kyle confirms, and Willy is shaking, he wants to so badly. “I can keep holding you here, if you want.”

Instead of saying,  _ that’s exactly what I want,  _ or  _ that’s everything I could ever want,  _ or  _ I’ve never wanted something this badly before,  _ Willy just let’s his eyes flutter shut, feels the way Kyle’s hand is pressing into him so insistently, listens closely to the white noise of the shower.

“You want that,” Kyle says, and it’s not exactly a question, but he’s looking for confirmation, Willy can tell.

“Yes,” he says, and his voice sounds hoarse and distant, like Willy’s a million miles inside his own head and body, and Kyle’s deep gaze is right here with him.

“Good,” Kyle says, leaning in so that his mouth is right next to Willy’s ear. “Let go.”

Willy tries, and he tries, and after a few seconds, Kyle runs a hand over his lower stomach, and he doesn’t exactly press, but it’s the thing that finally pushes Willy’s bladder over the edge, and then he’s letting go, relief flooding him as he goes and keeps going for what feels like forever. The shower is hot, but his own piss feels hotter, stickier in the inside of his legs, and he’s in the shower, but it still feels wrong and disgusting, because Kyle is holding him here, watching Willy actually wet himself. Willy is trembling, probably crying, and he knows Kyle is saying something to him, but he can’t make out the words. All he knows is that the tone feels soothing, and make it easier to cling to the desperate hope that if Willy is breaking apart right now, it’s because Kyle wants him to be broken. 

He can’t open his eyes, not even when he’s finally empty, because it’s already too much to feel and hear and smell. He can’t even begin to imagine looking, at this point.

It’s all too much. They’re in the shower, Willy’s piss being washed away with every second, and it’s too much.

Willy thinks he might die, it’s all so much.

He thinks he wants it to be even more.

He thinks he wants to be in his clothes, so he can feel the wetness cling heavy against his skin as it seeps into the fabric. He thinks he wants to be in a bed, or even in Kyle’s office, sitting across from him and squirming in that same chair until he loses control in front of him, Kyle looking on. It’s not a practical consideration, but Willy’s not thinking about practical right now, just what he wants, in his raw, dark fantasies, and what he wants is to wet himself and be broken and humiliated and have someone with Kyle’s eyes watching.

“You’re so good,” Kyle is saying. “You did so well.”

Willy isn’t on this planet. He’s in a fantasy world where Kyle is being sweet and awesome and telling him to wet himself and taking care of him afterwards, except these words are coming from the real Kyle, whose shower Willy is standing in, so he figures there’s some overlap between the fantasy world and the real world.

“We can talk about that later, but you did so good,” Kyle says, and the way Willy feels at being called ‘good’ makes him think that the talking later is going to be a positive experience for him. “Let me clean you up.”

Willy wants to give a real, verbal answer, but he’s decidedly nonverbal right now, so he settles on an agreeable hum and lets himself tune into the sound of the shower and the feeling of Kyle’s soothing, soapy hands on his skin.

**Author's Note:**

> warnings: this is under-negotiated kink and a player/gm pairing, so there's some element of compromised consent. there's are some feelings of unease after a sexual encounter but those are assuaged. generally, characters involved are offering their most enthusiastic consent. 
> 
> thanks goes to h for the beta.


End file.
